


The story of one knee, one surgery and two very lost left-wingers

by begracefulindefeat (yoi99)



Series: The aftermath of the Community Shield [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Injury, M/M, Manchester City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2020-08-19 22:03:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20216995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoi99/pseuds/begracefulindefeat
Summary: Raheem felt his heart shatter as Leroy Sané broke down in his arms.OrFour stories following Leroy Sané's knee injury during the Community Shield.





	1. The Injury

**Author's Note:**

> This ship doesn't get enough love and I don't know why.
> 
> Obviously, there are no children or girlfriends/wives in this fic.
> 
> Have fun reading 💕

Even if it had been almost mathematically impossible not to start, Leroy Sané had been surprised to see himself on the starting line-up.

He also had to admit he would have been pretty angry if he hadn't.

The only chance he had during the match was a really good one. If the goalkeeper had been anyone but Alisson, he was sure the ball would have gone in. Leroy swore to himself the next one would.

Then he tried to dribble past Alexander-Arnold and the kid grabbed his shoulder a bit and he lost balance.

And before he knew it he was on the floor, rolling around and crying in pain.

The only thing in his mind (besides the excruciating pain) was: 'you must be kidding me.'

No serious injuries. Nothing more than a week long. No extra efforts. Last year he had been fine. 

Ten minutes into the season, the season he swore he was going to take his spot back, and he was injured.

'It's official, if there's a God, it hates me.'

His knee hurt, it hurt so freaking much, and even though he was pretty sure his face showed it, Leroy tried to convince himself and the doctors he could carry on with the match. After all, he had suffered knocks much worse than that and he had always been fine.

But when he tried to stand up and walk, he had to lay on one of the medics for support so he wouldn't fall. 

He was screwed. 

When Raheem asked him later on, Leroy promised he didn't remember what on Earth it was that Guardiola had told him. He just remembered he didn't like it one bit.

He stood by the sidelines long enough to see Raz score, and he couldn't help but smile at it. It was a thing Raheem did, making him smile. 

One of the doctors told him to get showered and stop by the nursery later, so they could at least bandage his knee. He almost refused: if he couldn't play the least he could do was stay and watch the match. But he knew that if he said no, Guardiola would end up knowing about it, and he really didn't need any more 'bad attitude' proof hanging around him.

So he obediently showered, changed out of his kit and headed to the medical examination room. He kept his shorts on, they were examining his knee after all.

To Leroy's annoyance, the doctor did some more exploration before concluding they would have to run tests to figure out exacty what was wrong with the knee. Adding that if he could walk it couldn't be anything too serious. 

' _ It can't be anything too serious'  _ echoed through his mind when City's doctor said the word 'surgery' the week after that.

He had gone back to the pitch then, watching the Community Shield from the bench, with a small bandage around his knee and the reassurance that it couldn't be anything serious.

Of course, Raheem wasn't just going to buy that. 

"Are you sure you are okay?"

"Yes, Raz. Doctor said it was nothing serious. I'm fine, I promise," Leroy repeated for what it felt like the thousand time. "You stay focused on the game, okay?"

He flashed him his best smile, trying to act as casual as he could, when the truth was the pain in his knee hadn't receded since he had gone off the pitch.

And even though he was starting to get a bit tired of City winning trophies without him, Leroy was still glad that they'd won.

He slept on Raheem's shoulder for almost all the trip back to Manchester. Strangely enough, and despite all the celebrations, no one even tried to wake him up.

They stayed quiet all the way home from the Ethiad too. When they finally made it to Raheem's house (their house as he liked to call it, but Leroy never seemed to know how), he broke the silence.

"Raz, I got injured. I didn't die. And it's not even that serious." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Leroy could see Raheem wrapping the steering wheel tighter. 

"I'm starting to wonder if you are mad at me," Leroy continued, voice a bit smaller. "And if you are, you'll probably have to tell me because you know I'm not very good at this."

The Englishman turned to him with the softest look Leroy had ever seen. "Why on Earth would I be mad at you?"

"Well, I don't know but you aren't talking to me and-"

"I'm not talking to you because I don't have anything to say," Raheem answered, reaching for Leroy's hand. "Because I don't want to promise you things until a doctor sees you."

"But the doctor said I was fine."

Raheem chuckled. "That is not what the doctor said."

"The doctor said it wasn't too serious."

"That and 'you are fine' are not the same thing," Raheem pointed out. 

Leroy rolled his eyes with a small smile. "Fine, whatever you say."

"I'm sorry, I'm just-" Leroy stared at Raheem, waiting for him to continue. "I'm just worried, okay?" 

"Okay."

Raheem smiled fondly, because honestly, Leroy was so incredibly beautiful and so wonderful, he still couldn't believe they were together. 

Of course there was the whole I don't really catch second intentions and the attitude thing, but to him, the German was still wonderful.

"I just want you to be okay." 

"I know."

And he chuckled, because they were still sitting in the car and talking about it didn't shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach but he had to be strong, after all.

For Leroy.

"Come on, let's get inside," Raheem said, unbuckling his seat belt and climbing on his seat so he could kiss Leroy's lips.

Once inside, he insisted on making them dinner. Leroy kept asking if he could help, but he refused over and over, telling him he needed rest. After trying for almost 20 minutes straight, the German gave up and went to watch TV.

When Raheem went to call him for dinner, he found him fast asleep on the sofa.

"Of course."

Usually, he'd debate whether or not to wake him up or wait until he would himself, which most of the times he did after an hour or so. But after the match and the injury, something at the back of Raheem's mind told him he had to wake Leroy up. Or maybe he just needed to make sure he was okay once more.

So he went over to the sofa and softly shook him awake.

Leroy groaned, and shifted to his side.

"Baby, it's time for dinner," Raheem said with his hand on the younger man's side. 

Leroy turned towards him, wincing when all his weight shifted to his right leg. "Five more minutes, Raz."

"Careful with that leg," was Raheem's answer, in a more worried tone than he had intended.

Leroy opened one eye just to glare at him, but he turned again, so that he was laying on his stomach. 

"Just for that I get 10 minutes, and you are spending them with me." Raheem opened his mouth to protest but Leroy didn't let him. "No buts, come here."

He moved to a side so Raheem had space to lay down beside him. With a sigh, the Englishman accepted and lay next to Leroy, who proceeded to press his head against his chest. 

"Much better."

Raheem wrapped his arms tightly around him, drawing random patterns on Leroy's back. Almost unbelievably, the German managed to fall asleep again. 

And just maybe, Raheem didn't check the time because he loved to have Leroy asleep in his arms.

About twenty minutes later, the German woke up on his own, smiling softly at the older man's movements. 

"Having fun?"

Raheem looked at him with a small smirk. "Evening, sleepy head," he said, kissing the top of the German's head.

Leroy hummed contently against his chest. "Evening, Raz. Why do I have the feeling that was more than ten minutes?" 

"Because it was," Raheem pointed out, standing out and stretching. "How is your leg?"

Leroy sat up and tried to bend his knee. He had to bite his lip to avoid whimpering in pain. 

"It's fine."

He knew Raheem was aware that he wasn't fine, and he was ready for the lecture about lying about his feelings. But it didn't come.

Instead, Raheem offered him a hand to help him up. Leroy gladly took it. 

"Come on, let's go have dinner."

After dinner, Leroy effortlessly fell asleep again, his head on Raheem's lap, while they watched some action film they had found on TV. 

Raheem tried to focus on the movie, and later on scrolling through his phone, but his mind kept wondering to Leroy and his knee. 

He had to admit he was worried to death.

Halfway through the movie, his phone started to ring. He checked the caller ID (even though he would have picked up no matter who it was anyway): it was John.

"Stonesy."

"Night Raz, you busy?" The defender asked from the other side of the line.

"If I were I wouldn't have picked up."

"Fair enough. I just uhm… I was wondering…"

Raheem knew he was doing what he did when he didn't want people to think less of him. "Spit it out, John."

John hesitated on the other side of the line. "Is Leroy alright?"

The winger swallowed hard. "Yes. I mean… no. I-I don't know, I don't think so but it's not like he is going to tell me about it."

He was about to keep rambling, but John stopped him before he could. "I'm sure he is fine. You worry too much."

"But what if he is scared and I can't be there for him because he doesn't let me?"

Raheem felt John sigh. "What's he doing right now?"

Raheem glanced at the German sleeping peacefully in his lap. "Sleeping."

John bursted out laughing. "See? He is fine. I'd worry if he wasn't asleep."

"Okay, you are right," Raheem admitted, a small smile forming on his lips. "Thanks, Stonesy."

"Hey, no prob. Tell him I asked about him and that he'll be up and running and being annoying in training soon."

They said goodbye and hang up. Raheem felt a bit better, at least about how Leroy was handling in. 

He shook his head in disbelief: sometimes Stonesy seemed like two different people in one. He was thankful for the defender though, him and Kyle always seemed to lighten up the mood.

He felt his eyes starting to close, and decided it was time for bed. Raheem felt bad about waking Leroy again, but it wasn't as if the German hadn't proved he had zero problems falling back asleep.

So he woke him up for the second time this evening, telling him they should head to bed. Leroy agreed sheepishly, and made his way to the bathroom. Raz followed after him, but by the time he got there, Leroy was done brushing his teeth and heading to bed. He didn't seem much more awake than 5 minutes before. 

Raheem smiled, wished him good night and kissed him softly on the lips. Despite the tiredness, the taller man smiled dreamily, dimples popping out. God, Raheem was so in love.

When he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he found Leroy sprawled underneath the covers, already sleeping.

Almost as if he had a sixth sense, the younger man curled up against him as Raheem got into bed. The Englishman smiled fondly, and wrapped his right arm around him 

Maybe, just maybe, he was going to be fine after all.


	2. The news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with this angsty story now that Le is getting better and will come back soon.
> 
> Raz is a supportive bean and Leroy has probably had it tough during this past few months.
> 
> Anyways, as always hope you enjoy!

Leroy felt his world come crashing down when the doctor told him he needed to have surgery.

He wasn't a guy who particularly cared about winning or losing. He just liked to have fun doing what he loved: scoring, assisting, dribbling past defenders. Making stupid jokes with John on the bench. Teasing Kyle about being faster. Nutmegging Bernardo in training. Kissing Raz in the shower after practice.

But he wouldn't be able to do any of that if he had to have surgery.

Taking football away from him for five to seven months was almost like taking away his sole source of happiness.

He didn't really listen to the rest of what the doctor said. The only thing he managed to catch was that the surgery was going to be in Barcelona the following week.

He wanted to cry.

He hadn't wanted to cry so much since Low hadn't called him up to go to the World Cup last summer.

Low. Germany._ The Euros._

Shit.

He couldn't just miss more than half of the season, including the qualifying rounds, and expect a call-up as if nothing was wrong.

Great. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any worse.

He let Raz ask all the questions for him. He'd ask him later. Or never. Who knew.

He was glad he brought the Englishman with him. Raheem was holding his hand tightly and he was sure the small gesture was the only thing keeping him in the room.

The doctors, Guardiola, his teammates: everyone had told him he was going to be fine.

He felt like he couldn't breathe.

As soon as they left the medical center, Leroy put his hood on, burying his head inside the hoodie as if the red fabric was going to make all of his problems go away. It was cold and he regretted wearing shorts.

He regretted almost every decision he had made for the past two weeks.

Raheem tried to talk to him when they got inside the car, but he blatantly ignored him. He rested his head against the passenger window, and closed his eyes tightly, trying not to think.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he couldn't sleep.

He didn't give Raheem a chance to talk when they got home either. He jumped out of the car, and got in as fast as his knee let him, slamming the door. He leaned on it, letting out a shaky breath. He was fine. It was fine. He wasn't going to cry.

He kicked out his shoes and threw himself face down on the sofa. His head was spinning and he felt like throwing up.

He heard Raz come in. He brought his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly, ignoring the sharp pain on his right knee as he bent it. He was already getting surgery, how much worse could it get?

That's how Raheem found him when he came into the living room: curled into a ball, and shaking. Breathing in and out, in a futile attempt to avoid crying.

The older man sat down next to him. He didn't say anything for a while, and just stared at Leroy, waiting for the German's next move.

When Leroy finally felt brave enough to lock eyes with him, he opened his arms. "Come here."

Raheem felt his heart shatter as Leroy Sané broke down in his arms.

At first, the only hint he had that Leroy was actually crying was the wetness in his shirt where Leroy had buried his head. But soon enough the German's shoulders started shaking, and before he could do anything to stop it, Leroy was sobbing uncontrollably onto his chest.

He had seen Leroy mad. He had seen him sad. He had seen him snap at Guardiola. He had seen him drunk, embarrassed, in love.

He had seen Leroy in every single one of his most vulnerable forms, attitude or not.

But he had never seen him cry.

Not when he didn't get called up for the World Cup. Not when Germany was relegated in the Nations League. Not when he missed the penalty on the Carabao Cup final. Not when he got benched with almost no option to change it.

Not once.

Leroy, like himself, was just one of those people who barely ever cried, who prefered to look into the bright side of things or just not be bothered by them at all. Which was why seeing him like this hurt him even more.

Leroy sobbed for a good five minutes, and throughout all of them, Raheem didn't stop trying to make him feel better: he rubbed his back, pet his hair, whispered comforting words into his ear, not letting him go for a second.

When Leroy's sobs turned into sniffles, the younger boy sat up, looking away, and wiped his eyes. His cheeks were flushed and tear stained and his eyes puffy and red rimmed.

"Sorry," he mumbled insecurely.

And Raheem didn't know what was more heartbreaking: that Leroy had been crying for fifteen minutes straight or that he had just apologized for it.

He caressed Leroy's cheek with the back of his hand. "Hey, no. Look at me, baby, come on."

But Leroy didn't, afraid he might start to cry again.

"Leroy, please. Look at me," Raheem insisted, almost begging.

For a few painstaking seconds, the German didn't, his gaze focused on his hands, while circling the tattoo in the ring finger of his left hand, as if it were the first time he saw it. Just when Raheem thought it'd be better to leave him alone, Leroy's brown eyes met his. His teeth were firmly pressing on his bottom lip and he looked as if something inside him had shattered along with his ACL.

"Raz, I'm scared."

His voice was so shaky and Raheem was so overcome with impotence he swore he could taste some bile in the back of his throat.

He took a deep breath. He was trembling himself, but needed to be strong for both of their sakes.

Actually, fuck his own sake, Leroy was a priority more than ever.

"Okay, it's going to be okay. You'll-"

Leroy interrupted him before he could finish, his face twisted in an angry pout. "It's not going to be okay. Stop saying that. It's a lie."

Raheem had to admit he was taken aback by the small outburst. It made sense, however, taking into account Leroy was never very considerate with words: he said what he wanted, not worrying about it being appropriate. Dealing with Leroy when he was upset was never easy and Raheem knew he was going to have to be extremely careful.

Calming him down was going to be harder than he thought.

"Fine, it's not going to be okay," Raheem stared directly into Leroy's eyes, who shone with a little defiance. "It's going to suck and it's going to be long and boring and lonely. It's going to hurt and you'll have to listen to a lot of people and you aren't going to like it one bit. But you are going to do it, no matter how hard it is and you'll come back stronger than ever, ready to kick ass, yeah?"

"Alexander-Arnold's I hope."

He wasn't smiling, yet the fact that Leroy had been able to make a joke told him he wasn't in such a foul mood anymore.

It was progress.

"Yeah, Trent can take a good one for all I care," he held Leroy's hands tightly between his. "You are getting through this, and I'll be with you every step of the way."

Leroy shrugged, not really convinced. He didn't want to go through anything or come back stronger than ever. He didn't even want to start all the games anymore.

He just wanted to play football.

The knot in his throat had come back and he felt as if he couldn't breathe again.

A new wave of fear overcame him: fear of the future, fear of crying, fear of nothing being okay.

Without saying anything, he curled up against Raheem, grabbing onto his shirt tightly. As if the older man could chase all of his worries away just by holding him into his arms.

And even though he couldn't, when Raz wrapped his arms around him and held him close, resting his head on top of his, he felt just a tad safer.

He tightened his grasp.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to."

Leroy shook his head. "I don't want you to."

Slowly, the Englishman raised his boyfriend's cheek from his chest and kissed him softly on the lips.

That was all the proof Leroy needed.

"Come on, I have an idea of something that will make you feel better."

He ran them a bath then, full of bubbles and relaxing aromas. It had been just for Leroy in theory, but he had insisted they took it together.

They laid in the comfort of the warm water and the bubbles surrounding them. Raheem’s back was against the tub’s wall, while Leroy was tucked between his legs. It might have been an awkward pose some other time, considering how much taller the younger man was, but it felt right at the moment.

And for the amount of time they were in that bath, it was just the two of them. No football, no injuries, no worries at all.

In the quiet of the bathroom, Leroy had started dozing off in Raheem’s arms. And it was that small gesture, so typical of him, that made it look as if nothing had changed after all.

They could worry tomorrow.


	3. The surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Englishman took a deep breath, trying not to sound angry. "The doctor you picked, he is one of Bayern's preferred doctors, isn't he?" Leroy stared at him with a slight frown, not saying anything. "He is," Raheem concluded.

When Raheem found out Leroy had decided to have surgery with a different doctor than the one suggested by Guardiola, he felt a wave of anxiety overcome him.

The worst part was that he didn't hear it from the German. He found out because he overheard John talk about it.

He couldn't believe he had to know through  _ John. _

When he asked him why, Leroy merely shrugged. "Just because."

So Raheem let it go because the last thing they needed at the moment was a fight.

He tried to ignore the choice of doctor for a while, but in the end, he had to understand the reason behind it. Dr. Cugat was an expert and both Guardiola and the whole team trusted him a lot, so he couldn't understand what would bring Leroy to want his surgery performed by another doctor.

The answer was worse than he had feared.

"You are having Bayern's doctor perform your surgery?"

Leroy instantly looked up from his phone, his face a mix of confusion, hurt and anger.

Raheem instantly regretted confronting him about it.

"What?" 

The Englishman took a deep breath, trying not to sound angry. "The doctor you picked, he is one of Bayern's preferred doctors, isn't he?" Leroy stared at him with a slight frown, not saying anything. "He is," Raheem concluded.

"This is why I didn't want you to know," Leroy replied, before going back to his phone.

Raheem was a calm person, it took a lot to make him lose his nerves, and usually he found Leroy's attitude sort of hot, but he was exhausted and worried to death.

So, without thinking twice about it, he grabbed Leroy's phone from his hands.

He wouldn't exactly describe Leroy as calm, but he'd definitely go with something like 'unbothered'. Most of the time, he didn't react to lectures, provocations or negative events in general. 

Raheem knew he had pissed him off.

"What the fuck Raheem, give me my phone back."

The older man put the phone away on the counter. "You can have it back after we talk."

"Give it back," insisted the younger boy.

"This is serious, Leroy."

"Who are you? Guardiola? Give. Me. Back. My. Phone."

Just like him but in a different way, Leroy had a limit of rubbish he was willing to take. And just like him, there were very few people who had reached it: himself in a few past fights, Guardiola, Toni Kroos, and probably Virgil Van Djik were the only people to actually make Leroy lose it. He wasn't John or Dele but you still didn't want to make him mad.

Raheem knew he had reached that limit.

"No."

Leroy gritted his teeth and groaned a few things that sounded like swear words in German. He was blushing and Raheem could bet it wasn't from embarrassment.

"Fine," Leroy surrendered, exasperated. "If I say it's not about Bayern you won't believe me, right?"

Raheem opened his mouth to argue it wasn't that he didn't believe him but that the whole thing was very confusing and he'd feel better with an explanation.

Leroy rolled his eyes. "Don't," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Look, Dr. Flinch isn't just Bayern's doctor. He works with the German national team too. This isn't about me defying the coach and it's definitely not about Bayern. It's about Löw and what will secure me a place at the Euros."

There was a part of Raheem's brain that didn't have any doubts in what Leroy had just said. But a bigger part of him, the one that made all the alarms in his body go off when Bayern München was mentioned, felt like it was all rubbish. 

"That what you are gonna tell Guardiola?" He asked before he could stop himself.

Leroy's expression had softened, and now he just looked confused. "What?"

"That excuse. Is that what you are going to tell Guardiola when he confronts you about it?"

Leroy's expression went from confused to angry and from angry to sad in a few seconds. It was something that Raheem loved about him: how his face could portray every single one of his emotions if the younger man wasn't careful. 

"I-it's not an excuse," Leroy finally managed to blurt out.

"Oh come on, 'this isn't about Bayern, it's about the national team'? If Löw hasn't realized he can't win anything without you by now he never will. It's bullshit, Leroy, and I don't believe a single word of it."

He knew the words had hit home as soon as Leroy's confused expression turned back into an angry frown. 

"Fuck off," he spat. Raheem was being incredibly stubborn and he didn't want to continue the conversation. His head was pounding and he realized he was holding back the tears.

The Englishman chuckled bitterly. Everything in his body was telling him to stop before someone got hurt, but the anxiety of Leroy moving away didn't let him think straight.

"God, you are impossible to talk to."

He got no answer. Instead, Leroy just stared at him. 

"Sometimes I wonder if you do deserve to get benched with that attitude."

The words left his mouth before he had time to process their meaning. When Leroy looked at him with more pain on his face than when he had fallen down in the Community Shield, the whole weight of his words fell down on Raheem.

"Leroy, I-"

The German didn't let him finish. "That's it, we are done here," he spat.

Leroy stood up, ignoring all of Raheem's begs for forgiveness, and grabbed his phone before heading to their room and slamming the door.

Raheem could swear he had heard Leroy's voice crack.

He buried his face in his hands, realizing how far he had taken it. He wanted to throw up; by wanting to keep Leroy close he had driven him away. 

Not without a heavy heart, Raheem decided it was best to give him time and he took the dog for a walk to clear his head. His own poisoned words echoed in his brain nonstop. Why on Earth had he said that to Leroy? Of all the things in the world, he had to go with the mere reason for him to freak out about a choice of doctor. 

_ Fuck. _

He kicked a pebble as hard as he could. He felt dizzy: thinking many thoughts and feeling many things at the same time. He knew he had to go and make things right, make sure Leroy was okay, apologize.

He also knew his boyfriend was indeed impossible to talk to when he got cross.

He'd most likely ignore him and, at first, Raheem would understand, apologize, tell him he could take his time. Then the German would do something that would make him lose his temper and they'd be right at the start.

God, why were they so predictably complicated?

When he came back, there was no sign of Leroy. He wondered if he was still in the house at all, or if he had left somewhere (John's was his best bet). But when he took a peek inside their room, he found the younger boy curled up in their bed, although he wasn't sure if he was asleep. 

"Go away," Leroy mumbled quietly, as soon as he stepped a foot inside the room. It sounded whiney and weak, and Raheem wondered if he had been crying.

He couldn't believe he had made Leroy cry.

With a deep breath he decided to test the waters a bit more, walking towards the bed and sitting in its edge, reaching out for the younger man, but Leroy moved away roughly.

"I said go away, Raheem," the German insisted, raising his voice. 

"Le, please. I'm sorry, I know shouldn't have said that, I just…" he couldn't find the right words and they came out stammered and confused.

"I don't care," Leroy snapped. "Go away or I will."

"Leroy, come on. Just… just listen to me for a sec, okay? And afterwards-" 

He didn't get to finish. Leroy got up with a groan and left the room, slamming the door again on his way out.

_ Impossible to talk to. _

But he couldn't just end it this way. And although he knew it was probably a terrible idea, Raheem followed the German into the living room. 

"Oh, for fucks sake," Leroy said as soon as he saw Raheem coming into the room. The younger man threw himself into the sofa, facing the ceiling. "Just leave me alone."

"I can't," Raheem said seriously, sitting down on one of the arms of the sofa and making Leroy roll his eyes. "I can't because I fucked up and I'm sorry, but I don't want to lose you and I'll insist until you talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Look, Le. I didn't mean that, but I understand that you are mad. I just need…"

"Why do you want me to talk if you aren't going to believe me anyways?"

Well, that was unexpected. 

"Of course I believe you," he said, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

Leroy chuckled. It wasn't his usual soft laugh, the one that brought out his dimples and wrinkled his face in that way it made Raheem melt every time; it was more dark and sad, as if Raheem was making fun of him with his last statement.

"Yeah, right."

"I do believe you, Leroy." Raheem insisted, a bit more seriously. His patience was reaching his limit and he was starting to feel no good would come out of the conversation.

"Half an hour ago you didn't believe a word I said," Leroy shrugged. "You said so yourself."

Raheem felt his cheeks blush in shame and frustration. He wanted to go back in time and slap himself before he said anything and avoid having this conversation at all.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, okay? You know it's a sore subject."

Leroy cut him off again, and Raheem wondered how much longer he could keep his calm. "The fact that it's a sore subject doesn't give you the right to be mean every time it's brought up," he pointed out.

Raz sighed. "I know," this time it came out more forced, and he had to grit his teeth to avoid saying anything else.

"Or at least, let me be mean too and don't get all 'Oh my God Leroy you have a terrible attitude.' It's really annoying."

_ A terrible attitude like the one you are having right now _ , Raheem thought.

“You can go now; I don't have anything else to say."

That's when he snapped. 

"Oh, for fucks sake Leroy! What do you want from me!? I’ve already apologized more than three times and you aren’t cutting me any slack!”

“You’re screaming again,” Leroy pointed out nonchalantly.

“Stop taking the piss,” Raheem hissed. “And for God’s sake just…” he manages to stop himself before he mentions the attitude.

“Drop the attitude?” the German was smirking by then and Raheem didn’t know if he had just forgotten they were having an argument or if he was trying extremely hard to piss him off. 

"Yes!!" the older man replied, exasperatedly. "Please, before I go mad and say something else I'll regret instantly," his tone was softer, almost begging. 

Leroy sat up and stared at him. For once, Raheem couldn't tell what he was thinking: whether if he was going to snap at him again or tell him it was okay. 

Then, he burst out laughing.

It was the good laugh, dimples and everything and, just like a charm, it made Raheem's heart melt instantly. 

_ You are so fucking weird _ , he thought. 

But at the same time, even if he didn't really understand what on Earth Leroy was laughing at, he suddenly felt much calmer.

"What's so funny?" He asked the younger man, trying to hide a smile and failing miserably.

"You are funny."

Raheem didn't know whether to feel insulted or not. "Oh, is that so?"

Leroy nodded, still smiling. "You get so worked up."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours," Raheem scoffed at the answer and Leroy just shrugged. "Should've believed me the first time."

For a moment, the atmosphere was tense again and they both remembered two minutes ago they were fighting. 

"It's really not about Bayern, though. I promise," Leroy sounded serious, and even though Raheem wasn't very sure about it, he preferred not to insist.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

He smiled and Raheem stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, before turning towards the door.

"I'm going to-" he started, but couldn't find anything to finish the sentence with.

"Come sleep with me," Leroy said and extended his arms towards Raheem.

Usually, he'd have replied he didn't want to sleep and gone off to do something else. And he really didn't want to sleep, but he also had nothing else to do and nowhere else to be.

So, he lay down next to Leroy and held him close while he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm a strong defender of the theory that Leroy isn't going anywhere, but you do what you have to do for the angst.
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter, don't hesitate to comment your thoughts!


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